Nightmares
by Bamfwriter
Summary: SLASH Set near the beginning of Year Three. Lupin starts keeping a journal. In it he can confess his secret love of Severus Snape and tell the story of a strange series of events involving Snape's nightmares.
1. Chapter 1

Set near the beginning of Year Three. Lupin, the new DADA teacher, starts keeping a journal. In it he can confess his secret love of Severus Snape. He also tells the story of a strange series of events involving Snape and nightmares.

* * *

2nd October 

Hello.

OK, that looks rather lame, especially for the first word. Let's see now...my name is Remus Lupin, and I'm a werewolf.

Bugger.

I sound like a bloody attendee of an Alcoholics Anonymous support group. Maybe I should start my own group, LA: Lycanthropes Anonymous.

Let me just make a quick note here; Albus Dumbledore has suggested that I begin keeping a journal. In it, I should vent when I need to, keep a log of how I feel before and after each monthly transformation, and in general use this inanimate bundle of parchment as a confidante. He explained to me that he has found, over the years, that it is very helpful to be able to go back and read his own journals, for inspiration, for support, and to reassure himself that he has made mistakes before, and it did NOT bring on the end of the world.

He has also encouraged me to seal this journal after I make my entry each night, with a Crypto spell, to prevent others' eyes from reading it. With my condition, that will be especially important.

I'm a werewolf. I think I mentioned that already. I have been ever since I was a small child. My parents, bless them, have been amazingly supportive throughout the years. In fact I have been met, for the most part, with only minor discomfort by the handful of individuals who know the truth about me. These days the one exception is Severus Snape.

Not that I blame him. He's been afraid of me, though I know he'd never admit it, since the day he came upon me in wolf form for the first time while we were students here. My best friend at the time, Sirius Black, thought it would be amusing to let Severus in on the secret of my monthly disappearances. If it hadn't been for James...but I digress. That is one event that I know I will not need a journal to remember, and I'd just as soon not preserve it for posterity on paper.

It's really ironic that I am now teaching side by side with Snape here at Hogwarts. They needed a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at short notice, and Albus thought of me. Bless the man. Bless his ancient, enormous, generous, loving, trusting heart. I was in dire need of employment, and had received two notices of imminent eviction from my tiny flat, for lack of payment of the rent. It gave me a great deal of pleasure to be able to drop the late rent into that vile landlord's chubby hand, thanks to a first month's advance salary from Dumbledore. It was even more of a treat to tell him I was moving out.

So here I am, Professor R. J. Lupin. Hogwarts professor and werewolf. The staff was told of my condition, and I have been greeted with nothing but acceptance, and offers of assistance wherever I need it...except from one. Snape is not happy with my presence here, and has made no attempt to hide it. I know that it is, in part, because he covets the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. But moreover I believe it is leftover resentment from that silly childhood grudge.

But being at the same place of employment with Snape is a blessing, for me, regardless of how he treats me. That is because he is one of only a small handful of Potions masters in the country who is equal to the task of brewing the Wolfsbane Potion. Wolfsbane Potion is a fairly recent invention, and it...well it keeps me sane during my one night each month as a beast. Without the potion, I lose my mind, and will attack anyone who crosses my path. With the potion, the transformation is only physical. I am still myself, but in the form of a werewolf.

As you can imagine, the benefits of having access to a supply of the potion is a godsend. Without it, I would be forced to sequester myself away, under lock and key or in chains, for the sake of the safety of all those around me. Instead, now, I can more or less relax and enjoy a quiet evening curled up on the rug in front of my fire.

The week classes began, Albus called me into his office. Snape was already there when I arrived, and looking daggers at me. I sat down uneasily, and soon learned the reason for the expression. Albus had asked Snape to provide me with the potion each month. Snape is stubborn. He's irritable and snarky. He's a downright sodding git at times, but all that aside, he respects Dumbledore. He could not refuse, even though he obviously wanted to.

Snape is not well liked at this school, by the students or the faculty. I have heard most unkind things said out of the Potions master's earshot, and I am often made to feel ill at ease when I am reluctant to agree. I can't help it. I don't see Snape the way they do. I never have, really.

They see a horridly ugly, ill-tempered man whose only pleasure comes in making others' lives miserable. I see a man whose own life was made miserable from a very early age. I must even confess to having been a part of it. I still feel remorse when I look back on my behavior. Granted, I was never the ringleader when it was decided that Snape should be made to suffer. But I didn't do anything to stop it either. It was partly out of cowardice, I suppose. Fear that if I defended Snape as the popular target, I would take his place. But more it was the fear of losing the first friends I had ever had.

He and I passed in the halls today, and I smiled at him. For the first time since I came here, he did not glare, or ignore me. He nodded. Just a slight inclining of his head, but it made me feel happier than...

I don't know why I didn't finish that last thought. This is my journal, MY secret confessional. Where better place to tell the truth, than to this, my private diary, protected from all eyes but my own?

I think about Snape more than I think of anyone else, I believe. He has been through so much hardship, so much pain, and nobody seems to understand that. I know of his position as a double agent for Albus. I know the horrors he has had to witness, and take part in, in order to maintain his charade with the Death Eaters. I know his childhood home was not a happy one.

And even with all that emotional baggage to carry, he maintains his professionalism as a professor. He bears so much darkness that it is only logical that it leaks out in the form of an ill temper. He must let that dark part of him out or it will take him over and drive him mad, actually turn him into the dark, evil person that everyone already sees him as. They don't understand. And it breaks my heart, because I love him.

Well. There, now. I said it. Well, wrote it. I love him. I love Severus Snape. I, Remus Lupin, love Severus Snape.

Oh, I have known for many years now that I'm not attracted to women. My parents are fine with it now, though I daresay they took that harder than my lycanthropy. Clichéd though it may be, I suppose I must say that I first discovered my sexual orientation in school, when I would experiment with Sirius. Sirius was not gay, at least that was HIS story. And granted, he did seem to be up on the roof of the Astronomy tower with a different girl every weekend. But he certainly did not hold anything back when he and I...

But that's from another time.

At present I am working beside a man whom I love. And he hates me. He doesn't know I love him, I mean, I'm not a complete fool. I would never tell him. Chances are, he would think I was teasing him. Or worse, he would know I was serious and still laugh in my face. So on we go, seeing each other every day, my heart leaping every time he looks at me without sneering. I am pathetic. But I love him.

I love him. God help me, how I love him.

* * *

11th October 

Well, it seems that making a vow to write in this journal every night is more difficult to keep than I had first realized. I haven't even picked the book up since I last wrote, and the sight of the smudged, diluted ink of the last paragraph above reminds me why. How embarrassing, to be reduced to tears over a crush. You'd think I would have outgrown such things by now.

I'm deluding myself, I am well aware of that. Even now, I can feel my throat tightening, my sinuses stinging, and in a moment the words in front of my eyes will begin to blur as the tears fill my eyes. Yes, there they go, right on schedule.

Severus brought me my potion last night for the first time. He was hesitant, hovering in the doorway of my office like a scolded student until I invited him in. When he came in, it was as if he was reluctant to make eye contact with me. I suppose it was out of fear. Or distaste. But whatever the reason, I simply thanked him warmly, and tried to let him know how very grateful I was, and how much I appreciated his efforts.

"Thank Dumbledore. I do it for him, not for you," was his grumbled reply as he made a hasty retreat. The goblet on my desk shuddered slightly as he slammed the door behind him, steam swirling in a silvery eddy with the rush of wind.

I just shook my head, chuckling with affection as I choked down the vile stuff. That was Snape in a nutshell. Which reminds me, he will be along with my potion any minute now, so I'd best wrap up and make this a short entry. I believe I will make a vow now, to write once a week, rather than every day as I had originally promised. Every day is just too big a commitment.

* * *

13th October 

Well as I said, I was going to write once a week. But something incredibly strange happened tonight. I am not sure where to begin, and I am still reeling slightly. I have behaved abominably, and I am disgusted with myself. But at the same time I feel oddly satisfied and hopeful. Perhaps I should start at the beginning. I must get it all down while it still fresh in my mind, before the details go out of my head.

It's now three days before the next full moon, and my once-a-month foray into the wonderful world of lifting my hind leg to take a piss. Hurrah.

But as for my strange experience...a pair of immature Blast-Ended Skrewts somehow found their way into the Great Hall at dinnertime. Nobody really knows how, but the Weasley twins were notably absent. But with Hagrid away on personal business pertaining to Buckbeak, it was up to me and the other teachers to tend to the matter.

The students were running and screaming as the horse-sized Skrewts ran about, overturning the long tables as they scrambled around, chasing one another. Dumbledore had Minerva, Poppy and Flitwick handle herding the children out of the room and to their dormitories, leaving him with Snape and me to deal with the animals.

Well, the first thing we learned is that casting a Petrificus Totalus on an immature Blast-Ended Skrewt causes it to blast...violently. I fear the headmaster's beard will never be the same. Wingardium Leviosa is not much better, because an airborne Skrewt can still blast, and thus propel itself around the room at great speed like a jet engine.

The first blast of the flying Skrewt sent it crashing into the points counter in the corner near the high table, shattering all four glass vessels and spilling a colorful combination of rubies, emeralds, sapphires and topazes across the floor.

Gemstones on a stone floor act much like marbles underfoot. And when an immature Skrewt falls down, it...guess what...blasts. Snape was directly in the line of fire this time, but fortunately (I think) he himself slipped up on a handful of rubies and fell flat on his back just as the jet of flame arced over him. By the look on the Potions master's face as he rose, I could tell the baby Skrewts were not long for this world.

Fortunately, before Snape could cast whatever hex he was cooking up, Dumbledore found the solution. He cast a Sleeping Charm on both the creatures, and they immediately curled up into balls and went to sleep. THEN it was safe to levitate them out the door of the Great Hall, and outside to the paddock.

After securing the Skrewts, the three of us were on our way back up to the castle, when I noticed Snape was limping. I inquired if he was all right, and he snapped that he was fine, simply sore from his spill. I offered to escort him to the hospital wing, and he replied, rather harshly, that I should worry about my own health.

I guess I must have gotten an especially pathetic look of hurt on my face, because all at once, Severus's expression softened, and he sighed.

"No, Lupin, I do not require medical attention. Thank you for the offer." With that, he turned and started limping once more toward the castle.

I blinked. I looked to Albus, who just grinned, widening his eyes as if to say my guess was as good as his. Snape went on ahead of both of us, still limping, and rubbing his lower back. I followed, silently beaming, my silly face pink with pleasure like some moronic schoolgirl who'd just been winked at by the Quidditch Captain.

As we moved along the school corridor, Albus bid us both goodnight and headed up the stairs toward his quarters. Snape muttered goodnight with a brief wave, and started away. I started to follow suit, when I grimaced. The Wolfsbane Potion.

"Severus," I called quietly, "I'm so sorry, but I need my potion,"

He stopped, and I saw his shoulders slump wearily. I felt remorseful, but it was necessary. The only way to ensure that I am "safe" when I change is to drink the potion every night for one week before the full moon. Skipping a dose is not acceptable.

"I have it made up already," Severus replied tiredly, motioning me to follow. "Come along, then."

I followed obediently. Anywhere he leads me, I will go. Pathetic.

As we entered his quarters, I was struck immediately by how cozy they were. For some reason I expected Spartan, almost military severity. Instead, I found a pleasant room decorated in deep shades of sage green and burgundy. A plump, overstuffed sofa and two armchairs gathered in the sitting area. A handsome Oriental rug decorated the stone floor. Colorful, tasteful botanical illustrations were framed and hung on the walls, and a large bookshelf filled one entire wall.

In the far corner to the side of the fireplace was a small table, upon which rested a cauldron simmering over a low, contained flame.

"Make yourself at home," Snape said awkwardly, gesturing at the couch with one hand, as the other undid the clasp of his black cloak.

I hid a smile as I took a seat. It was obvious that Snape did not often have guests. I sank into the wonderfully soft cushions and watched him putter around the room. He hung the cloak on a peg by what I assumed was the bedroom door, and paused beside a table that held a small group of potted plants.

He plucked a few dead leaves off here and there. Then he moved to one plant set aside from the others and peered cautiously at it, absently unbuttoning his frock coat. He knelt, and obtained a small watering can from beneath the table, and began to water the strange, thick-stemmed little plant.

I gave a startled gasp as the thing suddenly whipped its finger-like fronds toward Snape, but he stepped back gracefully, as if he'd been expecting the attack.

"Ungrateful little bastard...," I heard him mutter irritably as he plunked the watering can down on the table.

"Sorry?" I called, uncertainly.

He turned, and gave a short huffing sound that I could swear was a laugh. He pointed at the wildly thrashing plant as he finished unbuttoning his coat.

"Bloody Whomping Willow sapling...had it for a few days, now. Sprout asked me to look after it while she's in France to take cuttings."

As he spoke, he miniature Whomping Willow was stretching toward him and whipping desperately. But then, as if realizing that it couldn't reach him, the little plant abruptly formed its five stalks into the shape of a human hand, and made a very rude gesture. I laughed outright, and Snape turned back toward the feisty little scrap of vegetation.

"I didn't teach it that," he said, turning from the table with raised eyebrows, shaking his head and removing his frock coat, tossing it over one of the armchairs. He then moved to the cauldron and used his wand to slightly lower the flame beneath. Then he yawned hugely, curling one elegant hand against his mouth.

"I'm sorry, Lupin," he muttered through the yawn, "but I need to go to bed. I am truly buggered."

'I wish,' I thought to myself. I smiled tightly and rose, pointing at the cauldron. "No problem. Just tell me what to do."

Snape peered at the cauldron's contents and took a sniff of the greenish vapor rising from it. He nodded a bit to himself as he unbuttoned the cuffs of his immaculate white dress shirt.

"It needs to be warmer...another twenty minutes to simmer," he said. "Stir it once in five minutes, and then leave it alone. The steam will turn silvery when it is ready." He started unbuttoning his shirt as he crossed the room toward what I assumed was his bedroom.

"Thanks, Severus," I said fondly as he passed by. Hoping he understood how much I appreciated him.

"Not at all," Snape replied through another yawn.

He stripped off the shirt, revealing a pale, smooth back and shoulders. I did my best not to stare, but it was difficult. This was the most of Snape's skin I suspected that anyone other than a Healer had ever seen. He was obviously exhausted, because I knew he would never be so brazen as to undress in front of me if he were completely lucid.

"Just extinguish the flame before you leave. I have no wish to wake up burned to a crisp."

He turned toward me again, and I couldn't help but glance at his torso. He was extremely thin, but at the same time, his chest and stomach were solid-looking. His pectoral muscles were hard and his nipples a warm, dusky brown color. His body, what I could see of it, was almost completely devoid of hair.

Snape yawned again, and stretched both arms over his head, bouncing a bit on his toes. The muscles of his belly tightened, standing out slightly, the sloping ridge at the base of his ribcage protruding as he arched backwards. His black trousers slipped down a bit, revealing the sharp curves of his hipbones and a sparse sprinkling of dark hair trailing below his navel.

I suddenly had the strongest urge to graze my teeth over one of those inviting hipbones, and I felt my face start to flush. I quickly turned away to huddle over the simmering cauldron, mentally listing the charms used to repel a Banshee as I felt my trousers seeming to grow smaller. Mind triumphed over matter, thank god, and my inappropriate reaction to Snape's physique began to subside.

"Goodnight," I croaked, feeling ungrateful and lecherous. Snape went to a great deal of trouble for me with this potion and here I was, having impure thoughts about the poor man.

There was a pause, and I thought he had exited into the bedroom. But then I heard another yawn, followed by a sleepy, "Goodnight Lupin."

I looked over my shoulder and watched as Snape disappeared into the bedroom and closed the heavy door behind him.

I breathed a sigh of relief, and looked sadly at the closed door. Like Snape's heart; closed off and unattainable. I sighed again, and sat down in the armchair by the fireplace, checking the small clock on the wall.

After five minutes I dutifully stirred the cauldron, then moved to the bookshelf against the far wall and perused the titles. I found a book that looked interesting and pulled it from the shelf. Settling back in the cozy chair, I thumbed through it, admiring the handsome, colorful renderings of insects and the lists of their useful parts.

I must have become absorbed in the tome, because the next time I looked up, half an hour had passed, and the Wolfsbane potion was giving off the desired silvery steam. I replaced the book neatly on the shelf where it belonged, and moved to the cauldron. I carefully filled the goblet that Snape had left for me, paused, and then lifted it in a toast toward the closed bedroom door.

"Thank you, Severus," I murmured, and took a large gulp of the scalding, foul-tasting brew, swallowing it as quickly as I could. Absolutely vile, as usual.

I pointed my wand at the flame below the cauldron and muttered a charm. The fire went out as if by a switch, and I tucked my wand inside my robes. I moved to leave, draining the goblet as I walked, and then smacking my lips to try and rid my mouth of the potion's bitter residue.

"NOOO!"

The cry nearly made me jump out of my shoes. Even through the heavy oaken door, Snape's frightened wail was jarring. I charged to the door and lifted the handle. It didn't budge. So I pounded on it, frantically calling out Snape's name.

"REEMUUUS!"

My heart leapt into my throat. He was screaming for me! Snape did not scare easily, so whatever lay beyond the door had to be truly terrifying. Why wasn't he protecting himself? Was he hurt?

I yanked forcefully on the door handle, but it was locked securely. The wolf was howling through my veins, silently screaming at me to protect, to defend, to fight off the threat to the safety of my 'pack'. Adrenaline pumping, and not thinking rationally, I drew back and slammed my shoulder against the wood. The pain jarred me back to my senses, silenced the wolf, and, feeling like a complete dunce, I drew my wand.

"Alohamora!"

With a soft (click), the door unlatched and I pushed my way through. The room was dimly lit by several wall sconces, giving off a soft, yellow light. My eyes took in every corner, searching for trouble. Nothing seemed amiss, and I crossed quickly to the bed in the far corner, and the panting figure it held.

"NO! REEMUUUS...!"

I jumped a little as Snape screamed again. As I got closer, I could see that his eyes were shut, but darting madly beneath the closed lids, and I realized with great relief that he was only dreaming. I set my wand on the nightstand, along with the empty goblet, which I only then realized I was still carrying. Then I reached down and gently took Snape by the shoulders.

"Severus?" I called softly, not wanting to frighten him any further by jolting him awake. He was moaning in despair now, and I could see tears on his cheeks. I shook him a bit, and gently slapped at his face. "Severus...Sev...wake up," I said a bit louder.

"Oh nooooo," he sobbed, still lost in his nightmare.

I sat on the edge of the bed and slipped an arm around his shoulders. His body tensed, and one hand came up to push at my face. I caught his wrist in my free hand, and the other hand lashed toward me. I grabbed both his wrists and held them, as gently as I could, but tightly enough that he could not hurt me, or himself.

When he still showed no signs of waking, I transferred both his tiny wrists into one hand and slipped my other arm under his shoulders. I pulled him partially upright, and cradled him against my chest. "Come on, Severus...wake up, now...it's all right."

He sobbed wretchedly, tears flowing from his closed eyes, still dead to the world. Whatever he was dreaming about had to be horrible, and despite my concern for him, I couldn't help but be curious. What was the unknown terror facing him in his dream world, and why did his subconscious obviously believe that I was the one to challenge it?

I pulled him against my chest, trapping his arms between our bodies, and wrapped both my arms around him. I held him tightly, and almost unconsciously, I found myself beginning a faint, soothing, rocking motion.

"Remus," he sobbed again, but softer now.

"Shhh," I breathed against his ear. "Shhh, I'm here...I'm here...everything's all right." I moved one hand up to caress the back of his head, tousling the jet-black hair. His muscles were beginning to relax and after a few moments, he suddenly went limp in my arms. I tensed, worried. But then a small snore issued from his nose, and I realized he had simply settled back into a tranquil sleep.

I quietly held him for another minute or so. When I was certain the nightmare was over, I tilted him back slightly, and studied his face. Cradling him to me with one arm, I reached up and brushed my fingertips along the shiny tear tracks that marked his face. I had never seen Snape cry, not even as a child, when James and Sirius tormented him. My curiosity about the subject of the nightmare increased.

It was only then that I realized something... Snape was naked. Totally, completely, magnificently and unashamedly butt-naked.

The sheet gathered at his waist was thankfully keeping some semblance of his modesty and my libido in check. But it didn't change the fact that I was currently in the bed of the man I desired more than oxygen, and holding him, nude, in my arms. I suddenly felt a great wave of gratitude that he had not awakened, for I would probably be the recipient of a good hex.

Perhaps I deserved one. For, as I held him, I began to notice the smoothness of his skin, the warmth of him, the smell of him, the weight of his body against mine. I went red, and began to lower him back onto the mattress...but then paused.

I would never have another opportunity like this. He was sound asleep. He wouldn't remember tomorrow.

Carefully, I tightened my arm across his back, drawing him a little closer to me. With my free hand, I began to explore his face.

When teaching, Snape's face was lined deeply with anger and tension. He was the sternest professor in Hogwarts' history, and I knew it was a title he cherished. Even when he was not interacting directly with his students, he wore an expression of perpetual annoyance.

But in sleep, the hard lines around his eyes and mouth melted away. His brow lost its worried creases, and his lips, usually thin with frustration, relaxed and went from white to pink. Asleep, he was no longer fearsome and unapproachable. In slumber, the Potions master was not a hard-hearted, sneering monster. He was human, and to me, at least, he was beautiful.

I brushed the pad of my middle finger softly over his perfect, ebony eyebrows, tracing the neat, elegant curves. His eyelids fluttered slightly, and I froze, holding my breath. But he did not awaken.

His eyelashes, dark as midnight, were luxuriant, long and thick, laying softly in feathered half-moons against his pale cheeks. I had known women who spent great amounts on makeup to achieve lashes like the ones with which Severus had been blessed by nature. They gave him a look of innocence that was incongruous with his stormy, stony personality.

Reaching between our chests, I withdrew one of his hands and held it in my own. His fingers were very long, slender and graceful-looking. He had the exquisite, unblemished hands of an aristocrat, which I found odd, considering the corrosive potions ingredients he worked with on a regular basis. I couldn't resist lifting that beautiful hand to my lips for a kiss. I turned his hand over, and brushed my lips over his wrist, following the slate-colored vein that pulsed beneath the smooth, pale skin.

His skin tasted like salt and smoke, and I wanted more. I leaned in and ran my tongue along his jaw line, feeling the faintest bit of stubble, and imagined him shaving the next morning. Next I kissed my way down his throat, over his Adam's apple, and followed one slender collarbone to his shoulder.

I lowered his hand and ran my fingers down his upper arm, feeling the sturdy biceps there. I fingered the velvety hollow of his inner elbow, and wondered briefly if he was ticklish. As I grew bolder, I lowered my face and kissed his temple, as lightly as sunlight on a leaf. I kissed his cheek, then again, lower. The corner of his mouth, and at last, I brushed my mouth in the faintest caress over his lips.

As I drew back, I felt desire becoming more powerful. I always become a bit randy in the days before the full moon. I looked down toward his groin, covered by the sheet, and decided that I needed to touch him. After that, I reasoned that I would open my trousers and place his hand on me. I reached down toward the sheet covering his nakedness...

But before my fingers touched the cotton, I froze. My mouth dropped open, and I looked in horror at the still-sleeping face of the Potions master. My stomach, before fluttery with desire, was suddenly burned through with shame and disgrace. My throat went dry, and for a moment I thought I would be sick.

What in the name of Merlin was I doing! I knew that if Severus were awake, he would not allow me to take these personal liberties with his body! To take advantage of him as he slept was only just shy of rape!

Trembling with shame and sadness, I lowered him back onto the bed and tenderly pulled the sheet up to his chin. Tears filled my eyes, spilling over as I studied the innocent, oblivious face that I so adored. How could I do such a thing to the man I loved?

I rose, and reached down, intending to caress his brow, as innocent as a father over his sleeping child. But my shame was overwhelming, and I could not bring myself to touch him again. So I simply snatched up my wand and made a hasty retreat, first from his bedroom, and then from his quarters completely.

* * *

And now here I sit, scribbling like a crazy man, the quill scratching across the page so fast it seems to smoke. I am beside myself with a combination of hope, sadness, and self-loathing. Hope, because tonight Severus treated me with something akin to kindness, or at the least, acceptance. Sadness, at the thought that my guilty conscience may very well now destroy any chance of those feelings becoming more. And self-loathing for the absolutely vile way I took advantage of him for my own selfish, lustful pleasures.

I think that I have captured it all in writing. I suspect that I will not be sleeping much tonight.

* * *

END CHAPTER ONE 


	2. Chapter 2

() () () () () 

14th October

I am an idiot.

After staying up half the night writing in this bloody journal, and another half a night of fitful tossing and turning that could not really be called sleep, I staggered, yawning and disheveled down to breakfast.

I was the last of the faculty to arrive, and as I walked in, the first thing I noticed was Snape staring at me. His face held an expression of worry mixed with suspicion. I faltered slightly in my path to the head table, and my heart began to hammer inside my chest. He knew.

I didn't look at him as I took my seat, which was inconveniently (thanks to bloody Albus) right beside Snape's. I nodded briefly to the other professors, but kept my gaze from the black-haired man. I could feel his onyx eyes boring into me, and I felt my face begin to burn. The eggs and sausage could have been cardboard and hippogriff turds, for all the enjoyment I got out of them as I scarfed them down.

I wanted to eat and bolt, to get the hell out of Dodge, as the American Muggles are so fond of saying. I wanted to leave before Snape had the chance to speak his obviously-perturbed mind.

"Lupin, what happened last night?" the baritone voice rumbled softly beside me.

I choked. As I tried to dislodge a chunk of sausage from my windpipe, Snape's bony hand clapped me on the back a few times. The offending tidbit exited my trachea, and I gulped it down, whole.

"What?" I croaked nonchalantly, when the coughing subsided. "Last night?"

"Why did you come into my bedroom?" Snape asked quietly, obviously trying to prevent the oh-so-alert ears of others at the table from overhearing.

I closed my eyes briefly. "Your bedroom? What makes you think I was in your bedroom?" I asked, trying to sound confused, yet casual and flip.

Snape sighed a bit, and I glanced over at him. He was gazing into space, not at me, and I could see discomfort in his large, dark eyes. When he turned his gaze back to me, they held only confusion, not accusation.

"You left the goblet on my bedside table, Lupin. I know you were in there. Please tell me why."

Oh. Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck.

How could I have been so bloody stupid? Of course, now that he said it, I remembered setting the goblet on the table before taking him in my arms and... Fuck.

But wait...he still didn't seem to know WHY I had been in the room! He didn't remember! I breathed a sigh of relief, and turned toward him.

"I'm sorry, Severus," I began, gently reaching out to lay a hand on his shoulder. He didn't flinch or try to shrug me off, just watched me expectantly. I took a gulp of coffee for courage and pressed on, deciding to tell him a portion of the truth.

"I was on my way out," I said, "when I heard you scream. I naturally went into the bedroom to see what was wrong. You seemed to be having a nightmare of some sort."

As soon as I said the word 'nightmare,' an extraordinary thing happened. Severus Snape blushed. He didn't go red with anger, or white with fury. He blushed. Pink as a rose. Like a schoolgirl.

"I...I see," was the murmured reply. The black eyes were cast downward, darting nervously back and forth as he processed this information.

We were silent for a few moments, the chatter of the Great Hall and its occupants forming a cacophonic backdrop of cheerful noise.

"Did I...did I say anything...in my sleep?" Snape asked, sounding as if he did not want to know the answer.

I pondered for a moment. Perhaps it would be best not to tell him that he had screamed for me. I would be more likely to avoid suspicion if I left that detail out.

"Yes," I murmured, and I heard him stop breathing. "But just incoherent yelling, I couldn't make out anything that you were saying."

At this lie, Snape visibly deflated, the tension leaving his shoulders. This reaction was intriguing, but I was really too caught up in relief that he did not know just what I had done while a guest in his bedroom. It looked as if I was going to come out of this unhexed, after all.

"I shook you a little, and you settled down," I continued, tasting freedom. "But you never did wake up." I smiled a little half-smile and shrugged, popping another forkful of eggs into my mouth. "Does that happen often, the nightmares?" I inquired pleasantly.

His eyes snapped briefly to meet mine, and he opened his mouth to reply, but then paused. He busied himself pushing his untouched food around on his plate, before murmuring a barely-audible reply.

"Not in a very long time."

We sat in silence for several minutes. Then as the students began to gather their things to start to their first classes, Snape cleared his throat and rose fluidly to his feet.

"I'd appreciate it if this didn't get broadcast throughout the staff, Lupin," Snape said, the familiar scornful tone returning as he straightened his cravat. "And I'll thank you not to take it upon yourself to serve as my protector again."

With that, he turned on his heel and stomped away, down the two steps from the head table's platform, and out the great yawning doors. I sat there, feeling an odd mixture of sadness and elation. Sadness, because it seemed that Snape felt I had betrayed his trust. Elation, because he clearly had no idea just how MUCH I had betrayed that trust!

And under it all, I still had a stinging, burning urge to know what he had dreamt, and why it involved me.

* * *

13th November

Well, as you can see, dear journal, not much of interest has happened over the last month. I went through my change, and spent the night of the full moon sleeping, rather than scurrying through the forest, preying on rabbits, squirrels, and who knows what else. It was always troubling, the morning after the change, when I would find bits of fur and tiny claws stuck between my teeth. Thank heavens for Severus Snape and his blessed potion-making abilities.

Speaking of, we have not spoken again of the 'incident' involving me in his bedroom. He still has no idea what exactly occurred that evening, and I am of no mind to tell him. Honesty is not always the best policy, especially since it seems as though Severus is warming up to me.

He now greets me in the hall with at least eye contact, sometimes a nod, and one unbelievable morning, an actual half-smile. Oh he's still very much himself, the snark and sneers are still firmly in place. But I would go as far as to say that he no longer dreads the sight of me. We have established a mutual acceptance, or at least respect.

Well as I indicated above, an entire month has flown by since I last wrote. Two more nights until I enjoy (ha!) my once-monthly nocturnal jaunt as a member of the canine family. It's not nearly as much fun as it was when James, Peter and Sirius joined me. I briefly thought of asking Minerva to join me this time, but then decided against it. Her Animagus cat probably wouldn't be a good match for my canine form. Not that I really think she'd agree to it, she's far too prim and proper to go gallivanting through the forests at midnight.

Too bad Snape isn't an Animagus. At least...I don't THINK he is.

As is typical for the region, the start of November marked the end of anything resembling a warm day. I have gotten my winter robes out of the trunk, and noticed that many of the students are already wearing their house scarves between classes. The bite of winter crisps the morning air, and frost paints the early morning grass silvery grey and green.

Well, I think I shall stop here. I have begun talking about the weather, and that is a sure sign that I have nothing of substance to document. Good night, then.

* * *

14th November

I have had another encounter with Snape. I thought the last time was confusing, with him screaming my name out in his sleep. Well, tonight the Potions master suffered from another round of somnambular terrors, but this time they very nearly cost him his life.

Even now, hours later, my hand shakes as I think about what happened.

I had been unable to sleep, for reasons at the time I did not know. I thought it was due to the pounding rain and occasional thunder of a rare, late autumn storm that shook the castle. But I believe now that it was the wolf's intuition, sensing danger, as it were, that made me fitful and unable to rest, and sent me to the library in search of something to occupy my mind.

So in the wee hours of morning, I was en route back to my quarters. The storm was raging away, but several chapters of "The Big Book of Bezoars" had rendered my mind sufficiently numb to the point that I believed I would find sleep, at last.

I was crossing the small rotunda at the foot of the stairs circling up the Astronomy tower, when I felt a draft, and heard a faint banging noise. Curious, I tracked the sound, stepping into the center of the rotunda, and looked upward. At the top of the stairs, a rectangle of pale blue flashed on the wall, and the patter of blowing rain slapped the marble steps. The door onto the roof was open.

I paused, wondering if it would be worth climbing those stairs to close a door that would probably blow itself shut the moment I reached for it. But with a sigh, I started valiantly upward. As I neared the top, I saw the door swinging in the wind, and the lightning flashed in that rectangle of blackness, ropy rain strobed by the flashes of blue-white light.

As I reached the landing, the door banged against the wall, and sure enough, started to close. But before it did, the lightning flashed again, and I caught a glimpse of a figure standing on the roof in the downpour.

I peered out into the wet darkness, eyes straining, waiting for the lightning to flash again. When it did, I blinked in surprise. Snape was standing there in the rain, his back to me, wearing nothing but a cotton undershirt and baggy trousers. I knew him by the jet-black hair and the nearly white skin.

"Severus?" I called, curious. What in the world could he be doing outside on a night like this? I knew he enjoyed watching storms, but he had the sense to do so from the window in a cloudburst like this.

He showed no sign of having heard me. With a glare at the flickering clouds, I turned the collar of my sweater up and ducked out onto the roof. The rain was ice cold and driving, and the wind partly blew me along as I approached the motionless figure.

As I neared him, though, Severus suddenly began running. I cocked my head, perturbed. Was he afraid of me? Did he not recognize me?

"Severus! What is it?" I called, running after him.

He ran to the edge of the roof, leaned on the low wall, and looked over. Then, he turned toward me, and the lightning flashed again. His face was devoid of expression, eyes blank, and mouth slack. He didn't even blink at the near-blinding flashes of nature's wrath. I realized with a start of surprise that he was sleepwalking.

That explained why he was out in the rain. And also why he did not seem to notice my presence. But all those thoughts were pushed out of my head as he climbed up onto the wall. Oh god!

"Sev, NO!" I screamed, sprinting forward. He was teetering on the edge; a few inches forward and he would plummet over a hundred feet to his certain death. As I reached him, he stepped forward, one foot hanging in space. I lunged, seizing his wrist, and pulled him back, just in time.

He whirled, yelping, and instinctively tried to pull free. He was awake now, but completely disoriented. We were not out of danger yet; I had to get through to him before he fell.

"Severus," I said, loudly and firmly. "It's me. It's Lupin. Wake up." I tightened my hold on his thin wrist, waiting for him to make eye contact with me. The moment he did, the struggles ceased.

"Lupin?" He murmured bewilderedly. "What are you doing in my room?" He blinked then as he became aware of the rain on his face, and looked up. His eyes widened as he looked around, finally realizing where he was. He looked down at me in confusion, then at my hand coiled about his wrist. Then, he slowly looked down at his feet, saw that he was standing on the wall, and turned to look behind him.

As he stared down into the void, Snape seemed to understand what had almost happened, and I saw him begin to shake. He wavered, and I gave a sharp tug on his wrist, pulling him off the wall and into my arms. I lowered him quickly to the roof and wrapped my arms around him as he gasped for air, almost hyperventilating.

"What...what was I...what did I do...?" He rasped, knotting his hands in the front of my sweater.

I held him tightly, moving one hand to cradle his head. "Shhh, it's all right," I said reassuringly over a clap of thunder. "Don't think about it. Shhh...I've got you...you're safe."

He wrapped his arms around my neck and just clung to me, shaking from head to toe. I noted that he was absolutely soaked through. I was still only partially damp, but Snape was drenched to the bone. He'd obviously been out on the roof for some time.

I stroked the bare skin of his arm, and found it icy to the touch. As I held him, I became aware of his shivers slowing, fading. His hold around my neck was growing weaker.

"Severus?" I called abruptly, pulling back a little to look at his face. He looked blearily up in the general direction of my voice, eyes half-closed, his expression confused and disoriented as if he were drunk. These were all bad signs; he was wet, he had suffered a tremendous mental shock, and he was dangerously cold. A serious combination.

Setting my jaw, I lifted him into my arms and headed toward the door. I had to get him warm, and quickly.

As I carried him across the roof, the back of my mind noted that, painfully slender as the man was, he was still heavier than I expected. A funny Muggle phrase about an unusually thin person's weight 'soaking wet' came to mind, and I smiled a little, despite my worry. I was thankful that my time of the change was so close; it gave me the strength I needed to bear his weight.

I sidled through the narrow door with my burden and kicked it shut behind me with a thud. As I started down the steep stairs I mused, horrified, on the fact that I had very nearly NOT come up to close that door. If I hadn't, Snape would be dead now.

I shuddered at the thought, and cradled him a bit more tightly against my chest. As if in response, his arms tightened around my neck. He curled up against me, nestling as close as he could, pressing his cold face against the crook of my neck. I could feel his breath, warm, against my skin.

Well..._one_ of us was certainly no longer cold.

I felt a twitch of interest from somewhere below my belt, and my mind coolly informed my body and my heart that Snape's sudden bout of snuggling had nothing to do with affection for me. It was the natural reaction of a near-hypothermic body to seek out and cuddle closely to the nearest source of warmth, and that happened to be me.

As I got to the bottom of the stairs, I hesitated. The hospital wing was at the opposite end of the castle. I would need to run there, wake Poppy...plus Snape was certain to be embarrassed by what had happened. Would he really want to suffer the perceived indignities of a hospital visit? On the other hand, my own chambers were just around the corner, where I could tend to him in private.

Making a decision, I hefted Snape a little higher in my arms and turned toward my room.

As I entered my private chambers I butted the door shut, then crossed quickly to the couch, where I laid the unresponsive professor down. His arms had, at some point, dropped from around my neck, and my heart was pounding with worry. I summoned the blankets from my bed in the next room and swaddled them thickly around his limp body, tucking them in. I placed a soft pillow under his head, brushing the soaked, black hair back from his face.

Moving quickly to the fireplace, I ignited the fire with a wave of my wand, and used an Engorging charm to make it burn higher and hotter. Then I returned to the couch, and levitated it and Snape carefully over in front of the blaze. Warmth was already spreading through my chambers, and I reached down to check my patient's pulse.

It was slow, but steady. I could feel it growing faster as I held his wrist, and relief flooded my senses. Leaving him, I quickly went into my room and stripped off my soaked clothes, replacing them with a warm, dry dressing gown. It would do neither of us any good if I, too, were to succumb to the chill.

I moved back into the living room, and went to the cabinet in the corner, which held my personal books and other small knick-knacks. I found what I was looking for; a bottle of fine brandy that had been a gift from my parents many, many years ago. I could never afford such a luxury myself, and I had sworn that I would save it for a special occasion.

As I held it in my hands, feeling the cool glass and the decorative little ridges around the neck, I reasoned that saving a friend's life certainly qualified as a special occasion!

I snatched up a small glass and returned to Snape's side, and knelt beside his head. He was becoming restless, now, groaning, and furrowing his brow. I knew he was close to waking up, and I finally began to relax. I poured a few fingers of brandy into the glass, set the bottle down, and carefully slipped my hand under his head to support him.

I gently massaged the back of his head and held the glass to his lips. The strong smell of the alcohol seemed to rouse him, and he sniffed. Then he opened his mouth slightly, and took a couple of small sips. Satisfied, I set the glass down and stroked his brow with my free hand. His skin was still so cold, but I could see faint tremors starting to shake him again. That was actually a good thing; it meant his body was starting to respond. As the shivers increased, I raised his head slightly to listen to his breathing.

He gave a small moan, and his brow furrowed, his long lashes fluttering against his cheeks. I brushed my knuckles tenderly along his jaw, and those black eyes, as deep as space, opened and gazed up at me. I smiled gently down at him, stroking his forehead, my other hand still supporting and caressing his head.

"Lupin?" he murmured, sounding confused.

"Yes," I replied softly, picking up the glass of brandy again. "How do you feel?"

"Cold," he murmured. "And stiff." He looked around, as if trying to figure out where he was. I brought the glass to his lips again, and he obediently swallowed a bit more of the potent spirits.

"What happened?" he asked as I pulled the brandy away.

"You're in my quarters," I explained. His right eyebrow went up, and I chuckled. "You were sleepwalking up on the roof...do you remember?"

His eyes narrowed, and he seemed to look inward. Then his mouth dropped open. He looked up at me. "I almost jumped off the roof, didn't I?" He nodded a little, lying back against my hand. "I remember."

I nodded faintly, swirling my fingers idly through his hair.

"Thank you, Lupin," Snape's voice said softly. "I owe you my life."

I looked at him. He was gazing up with gratitude, directly into my eyes. I just swallowed a little. It was the longest he'd ever looked at me, at least without glaring, and it sent little shocks of heat down through me to my toes, and back up. My heart was pounding so hard and so fast I was sure he would hear it.

"Anytime," I finally managed to rasp. He started to sit up, and I supported him with a hand against his back.

"Let me get you something dry to wear," I muttered, jumping to my feet so fast it made my head swim, and lurching like a drunken fool toward the bedroom. I heard him groan as he swung his legs around to sit on the couch, and hoped he didn't notice my strange behavior.

As I rummaged in my bureau for a spare set of pajamas, I thought the situation over. Twice now, Snape had suffered horrible nightmares. Tonight, they had almost killed him. I wanted him to be safe, but what would he think if I asked him to spend the night with me? It would be completely innocent, of course.

Well, at least to him it would appear so. I would enjoy my shameful, pathetic little fantasies, but as far as he was concerned, it was to be all innocence.

I chose a set of pajamas that were tight on me, figuring they'd be just about right for the especially-slim Severus. Then I popped into the bathroom and retrieved a large, soft bath towel, and then moved back into the living room. I found Snape sitting on the couch, wrapped in one of the blankets, his clothes drying on the hearth. He must have stripped while I was in the bedroom, and my face flushed as I pored over the fact that he was naked under the blanket.

He looked up as I entered, and I could tell by the look on his face that something was troubling him.

"What's wrong?" I asked, handing him the clothes and sitting beside him on the couch. He pushed the blanket down to his waist and pulled the pajama top over his head.

"I wanted to ask you something,' he murmured, voice muffled inside the fabric. When his head popped out, he glanced at me, then quickly away.

"What?" I asked, handing him the pants. He stood up, holding the blanket to him, and I took the hint and turned away. I heard the blanket hit the floor, and tried not to think about the fact that he was exposed, right behind me.

"I was going to ask...if you would mind... if I could..."

I smiled, knowing he couldn't see it. Who would ever believe it? Severus Snape...speechless.

Schooling the expression off my face, I turned cautiously back toward him. He was tying the drawstring of the pajama bottoms, the hem of the shirt tucked under his chin, giving me a glimpse of his flat, cream-colored stomach and the inky scribble of hair around his belly button. As he dropped the shirt back into place, he took a deep breath.

"Would you allow me to sleep here tonight?" he said at last.

I blinked in surprise. I looked up at his face and found him watching me uncertainly, hopefully. He looked intensely uncomfortable, and I realized how hard it was for him to ask anyone for help. It made my heart ache, and I wished I had the courage to tell him that he could ask anything of me, and I would do it.

"It's quite all right if you don't feel comfortable with it," Snape added quickly, mistaking my silence for unease. "I-I can just as easily..."

"No, it's fine, Severus," I said, trying to sound casual. "I was actually going to suggest the same thing." I smiled at him before turning back toward the fire. I knew I had a look of giddy joy on my face, and I didn't want to have to explain it to him. Rising, I moved the iron kettle from its spot on the hearth to the hook over the fire, and used my wand to fill it with water.

"How about a quick cuppa to help us sleep?" I said cordially, spreading my hands and smiling at him.

"I suppose," Snape murmured.

"Great," I replied, far too pleased over something as simple as the prospect of sharing an evening cup of tea with Severus. I moved to the cabinet again to collect the items I needed to make the tea.

"I think I shall need to set up some extra wards in my quarters tomorrow night," Snape said calmly. "It seems perhaps I should have them in place to keep me IN the room, as well as others out."

I made a small noise of agreement as I placed several teabags in a chipped, but serviceable teapot, took up a couple of cups, and place all on a small tray.

"I'd say that's a good plan, at least until you figure out what it is that is causing the nightmares," I suggested, coming back to the couch with the tea service. "But for tonight, just relax. I won't let you go out on any more rooftop expeditions tonight, I promise."

He gave a wordless snort from beneath the folds of the towel. I moved to check the kettle, and found it close to boiling. When I turned back to him, he was gently drying his hair by carefully pressing small sections of it between the folds of the towel, moving meticulously from the roots to the tips.

I couldn't hold back a chuckle at his odd, fastidious method of performing what is a fairly simple task for most men.

"You know, it dries faster if you just scrub it all over," I suggested. As I returned to his side, he eyed me uncomfortably and a bit annoyed.

"I know how to dry my own hair, Lupin," he muttered shrewdly. "It tangles like Devil's Snare when it gets wet. The only thing I can use to get it straight again is a smoothing potion, the base of which is rendered seal blubber. As you can imagine, it's vile and greasy, and I try to use it as little as possible."

I remained silent as I took the now-bubbling kettle from the hook and poured water into the teapot. Now that he said it, I realized that his hair HAD indeed lost that heavy, oily look it had all throughout our earlier days.

"Have you considered cutting it short?" I asked lamely, feeling bad for embarrassing him. I poured the tea into the two cups, and handed him one as he laid the towel aside. He gave me another of those odd, suspicious looks.

"I can't cut it short," he replied, morosely. "It hides the scars on the back of my neck from where The Dark Lord used to slash my flesh and drink my blood during our Death Eater revels."

I almost dropped the teapot, my heart leaping into my throat in horror. My jaw dropped, and my face paled as I turned to him, a mixture of disgust, sorrow, and sympathy creasing my brow. I knew he underwent dreadful rituals at those revels, but I had no idea the sort of sick trials He Who Must Not Be Named demanded of his supporters.

"Oh, Severus," I began softly, "I'm so..." I stopped, with mouth still partly open. Snape was looking me straight in the eye, his expression grim, stony, and resigned. But now his black eyes were crinkling at the corners.

"You're joking," I said, in both relief and wonder.

He remained stone-faced for a long moment, then smirked at me.

"Gotcha," he murmured smugly, taking a casual sip of his tea, bobbing his eyebrows once.

I sank back into the couch, heaving a great sigh. I took a sip of my own tea, snickering and shaking my head a bit. "That's one hell of a poker face you've got there," I muttered appreciatively.

"It's why I'm still alive," he replied softly, into his cup.

This time I knew he was completely serious, and my heart ached for him. If only I had the courage to reach out and touch him, to comfort him. Instead, I leaned down and retrieved the bottle of brandy from the floor. I added a generous splash of the liquor to my own cup, and held the bottle up, raising my eyebrows inquisitively at my houseguest.

Snape hesitated a bit, before slowly extending his cup. I poured a small amount of brandy into it, and he raised his other hand, gesturing for a bit more. And then a bit more. I chuckled, and topped the cup off.

"Do you take tea with your brandy?" I teased him. To my vast surprise, he chuckled in reply. Then he took a sip, and a look of bliss came over his face.

"Oh, that's lovely. That's just what I need."

I beamed foolishly at the scrap of throwaway praise.

We sipped together in comradely quiet for several minutes, the fire crackling and popping comfortingly before us. I could almost pretend that this was our nightly bedtime routine; my lover and I enjoying a hot toddy before climbing into bed together. Maybe we'd spent an hour reading together before the tea. I swallowed sadly at the painful, bittersweet pleasure this little imagined scenario gave me, and stole a sideways glance at him.

"So...do you remember what you were dreaming about up there?" I asked nonchalantly. I looked over at Snape, just in time to see him stiffen slightly. The defensive shield came down, and I could have kicked myself. I had to pry. I couldn't just have left a sweet, warm moment alone.

"I do remember," Snape replied quietly. He lifted the cup to his lips again. "But I would rather not talk about it," he murmured into his tea. After a beat, he looked over at me. "It's...nothing personal, Remus."

I waved a dismissive hand, but inside I was singing. He might not even have realized it, but Snape had just called me by my given name for the first time, ever. Well, not including that still-unexplained nightmare of the previous month, of course. But there was a moment, there, just for an instant, in which I felt he might consider me something close to a friend.

I would have to be very careful not to do anything to drive him away again.

After a few more minutes, I saw Snape's eyelids dropping, and the mostly-empty cup was tipping dangerously in his hands. I reached over and gently took it from him, and set it aside. He gave me a sort of embarrassed, sleepy little smirk, and I stood up as he lay down on the couch. He was asleep almost before his head made contact with the pillow.

I have been in such a state myself many times. So tired, that the moment you achieve something close to a horizontal position, you fall asleep. Smiling lovingly at the now-snoring Potions master, I knelt and lifted his legs onto the couch, and draped a blanket gently over him. As I straightened, I reached down and tousled his hair, just a little. He muttered something that sounded like 'good night', and snuggled under the blanket.

I locked us in for the night, casting a charm on the door that would wake me if anyone tried to exit. Then I moved to the bedroom, leaving the door ajar so that I could hear Severus if he needed me. I changed into my pajamas, and took up my journal and quill from its place on the bedside table to document the night's strange events.

* * *

14th November

No, I haven't entered the wrong date. It's still the 14th, around ten o'clock in the morning. Snape and I both slept in. Pity that the real situation isn't nearly as naughty as it looks on parchment.

What I mean is, being Saturday, and no classes for either of us, we both slept late in our respective rooms, me in my bed and he on my couch. He was already up when I came out of my bedroom, and had changed back into his own clothes, which had dried during the night. He glanced up at me, and I saw a hint of regret on his face. I suspect he was hoping to make good his escape before seeing me again.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Lupin," he said awkwardly, handing me the loaned pajamas, neatly folded. He ran his hand over his hair, which was sleep-tousled and wild. "And again, thank you for your assistance last night. You, of course, will keep it between us?"

"Of course," I replied, with a nod and a kind smile. The smile, I knew, did not touch my eyes, and I prayed he would not notice. I hoped he did not remember what had come to pass after we went to bed.

He studied me carefully for a long moment, as if waiting for me to say something else. My heart pounded nervously, but I played dumb. There was no way that I was going to bring up the subject that was currently burning in my brain.

At last, he gave me a small, curt smile, turned briskly on his bare heel and moved to the door. I pointed my wand over his head and released the charm on the door, and he exited without looking back. When he was gone, I moved slowly to the couch, sank down upon it, and buried my face in my hands.

After he and I had gone to sleep, the night did not pass without incident, as I would have him believe. For, some time after retiring, I was awakened by a noise. At first I did not remember that I had a guest in the next room, and I lay there in a cold sweat listening to the chilling moans and muffled cries echoing through my chambers. But a few moments later, I remembered, and I quickly threw back the covers and jumped out of bed, forgoing my robe and padding silently into the adjoining room.

As I reached the living room, I heard him cry out from the couch.

"REMUS!"

Here we went again. I hurried to the couch and stood over Snape. He was tossing fitfully, the covers kicked onto the floor, sweat beading on his brow, glistening in the firelight. I quietly closed the gate across the fireplace, reducing the amount of heat coming into the room, and knelt beside him.

He murmured my name again, followed by a small sob. I reached out and laid my hand softly on his forehead, stroking and soothing, crooning softly to him. After a moment, he settled, and snuggled back down into the pillows. I was relieved that he was so easy to calm this time. I did not have it in me to physically restrain him again.

When I was certain the nightmare was over, I picked up one of the lighter blankets and covered him. As I did, he gave a soft sigh, and rolled onto his side, facing away from me. I smiled gently, and reached out to softly stroke his hair, brushing it up off the back of his neck to make him cooler. I started to rise to my feet.

Then I froze, staring.

Beneath the black curtain of Snape's hair, the pale skin of his nape stood out sharply in the firelight. In the dim golden light, I could see the waxy, raised, spider's-traces of layers upon layers of scars.

I felt myself go cold, and tears immediately rushed to fill my eyes. I pressed my hand over my mouth and muffled my first sickened sob. Then I lunged to my feet and rushed into my bedroom, to collapse facedown on the bed. The pillow was far more affective at silencing my torment, and I sobbed into it for a long time.

The early morning sky was growing pale outside my window when I finally turned onto my back, spent and drained. My face was stiff with dried tears, my lips dry and my face chapped from the wet pillowcase. I didn't fall back to sleep until some time after the crowing of Hagrid's roosters, and when I did my dreams were filled with visions of Severus being bled, again and again, to satisfy his loathsome Master.

* * *

END CHAPTER TWO 


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